The memory of a little boy.
He has never gotten over the excitment of
Engines and sirens and danger
He's the guy like you and me with warts and
Warries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He's a fireman.
He put's it all on the line when the bell rings.
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and
The least furtunate of men
He's a man who saves lives because he has
Seen to much death
He's a gentle man because he has the
Awesome power of violence out of control.
He's responsible to a child's laughter because
His arm's have held to many small bodies
That will never laugh again.
He's a man who appriciats the simple
Plaesures of life, hot coffee held in numb,
Unbending fingers, a warm bed for bone and
Muscle compelled beyond felling, the
Camaraderies of brave men and wemen, the devine peace
And selfless service of a job well done in the
Name of all men.
He's doesn't wear buttons or wave flags or
Shout obscenities.
When he marches, it is to honor a fallen
comrade.
He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man
HE LIVES IT.
UNKNOWN AUTHOR
